Guardians of Nosgoth: Time Streamer
by thats-a-moray
Summary: After the events of Defiance the Pillars are restored and new Guardians are born at last, but will they be enough to save Nosgoth?
1. Prologue

AN: I'm posting this early because why the hell not? Welcome to draft two of Time Streamer! Starting in October you can expect updates every weekend, unless something prevents me from doing so. While I would like to keep a schedule I'm putting quality first.

Rated M for violence, mature themes, and some sexual themes. Most chapters will be T. If you've played Legacy of Kain you know what you're getting into.

* * *

 **PROLOGUE**

Thick smoke drifted across the sky from the Great Northern Smokestack, tinged yellow by the struggling sun. A black cloud rolled in from the north. As it neared the Sanctuary of the Clans, Nosgoth's forgotten seat of power, the cloud swooped along the dry winds with a clamor of leathery wings, becoming a funnel. Hundreds of little shadows scattered across the stone parapets, each identical to its brother. They pierced the air with shrill squeaks, seeking a place to land.

After a few moments the head of the flock suddenly reared back. As the stragglers flew into the fore the swarm absorbed itself, melting into the dark tower of the vampire king.

Over two thousand years ago he had been a reckless nobleman, a petty Coorhagen lord. Time had improved him. His feeble human skin had calloused into a resilient hide that resisted wounds and healed almost instantaneously. In place of brittle fingers, his hands ended in three flexible, sturdy claws. Horned ridges had grown from his brow, forming a natural crown, and his coarse, dark hair bleached silky and white as moonlight.

On his back he carried the Soul Reaver; a possessed flamberge with a wavy, double-edged blade. A vampiric skull adored the crossguard, the sword its sharpened tongue. The Soul Reaver was both his weapon and the embodiment of his divine right. For over a thousand years his rule extended across all of Nosgoth, his empire governed by six vampire clans, each led by a patriarch of his own creation, all of them loyal only to him, their lord and father, some more out of fear than respect. Humans were universally subjugated, cattle.

He crossed the rampart, cloak flowing in the wind like a bloody gash. Now the lands beyond the Sanctuary lay barren, populated by only the hardiest of creatures: tribal humans, demons, feral vampires driven mad by bloodthirst, and the last refuges of his fragmented empire. The patriarchs of the clans were dead, truly dead. Their countless children soldiered on through a world of nightmares.

The game was nearly won. Nosgoth's destiny was the prize. He alone could make the finishing move.

After his conquest of the mortal world, he had built the seat of his empire around what had once been the magical and spiritual axis of Nosgoth: the Pillars of Nine. Broken near the base and blackened with corruption, the Pillars sagged at the center of his palace, powerless.

Not for mere vanity did he build his palace here. From the moment of his birth the Pillars had been the fulcrum of his destiny. The center Pillar - the Pillar of Balance, had chosen Kain to be its living Guardian, the avatar for its power. Ironically, he would also be its destroyer. At the time he had no idea the true scope of the devastation. Once he realized what he had done, it was already too late.

But age brings wisdom. For sometime now he suspected the cause of the Pillars' fall was not his alone, that another force almost as great as the Pillars themselves had conspired to tear them down, using him as their unwilling catalyst. Raziel had vindicated his belief moments before his dissolution. Kain intended to honor that sacrifice. Today he would finish what he started.

The walls rumbled ominously as he descended through the tower. Regaining balance, he hastened his descent and hurried to the secret tunnel.

Vagrants had sacked the dining hall during his long absence. Ash from centuries ago nestled in its frigid hearth, undisturbed. Desperate times reduced his once lavish hall to a vast and empty room, lit by a dull ray of sunshine drifting through a broken window. On either side of the hall, stone columns still boasted the six clan crests, except for one. Before the Sanctuary's abandonment, the crest of his eldest son, the patriarch of the Razielim, had been chiseled from the record. Kain stared at the marred column for a brief moment in recognition.

Standing over the hearth, he bent down and tried to open the grate. The rusty hinges resisted at first. With a mighty grunt he tore the grate from its bindings and tossed it aside with one arm. The hearth's floor was much thinner than the rest of the Sanctuary. Concentrating, he shattered it with telekinesis and jumped down.

A fall from this height would have killed or crippled a human. As he fell he partially transformed his body into mist to slow his descent, landing gracefully and silently. In front of him a long, narrow tunnel stretched into darkness. Cobwebs dusted the earthy walls. Behind him, a ladder made from steel beams provided the means of escape. Although, that was not the only way out.

Kain started down the tunnel, eyes squinted as they adjusted keenly to the fading light. He had not set foot here since the Sanctuary's construction. The foundations of the Pillars ran deep, like the roots of a tree. This passage would take him to these roots, where he expected to find the source of the cancer that had been conspiring against Nosgoth since before his birth, what Raziel called _the true enemy_ , which the Soul Reaver was forged to banish.

The tunnel suddenly shook. Gravel trickled from the ceiling onto Kain's head as he recovered himself and the rock strained and cracked beneath his feet. He hurled himself into a sprint. Supports buckled and crashed at his heels, chased by a booming, otherworldly laugh. The end of the tunnel lay just ahead. He threw himself across the threshold, rolling and smashing through a wall of crumbling earth, landing on his knees on the other side.

Piles of earth spilled from the tunnel, blocking his exit. He exhaled, standing as he drew the Soul Reaver from its scabbard. The eyes of the skull crossguard expelled a fierce blue flame tinged with white and gold. These hellish flames emitted no heat, only light. The Soul Reaver hummed in his grasp. Perhaps Raziel sensed his old tormentor from inside the sword. Their adversary's laughter abruptly subsided.

VERY CLEVER, KAIN, it bellowed mockingly. BUT FUTILE! COME TO ME AND MEET YOUR DEATH.

Kain scanned his surroundings. Apart from a few unconvincing threats he found no sign of his quarry, yet. He heard its loathsome body dragging through some other part of the cave. Markings carved into the walls pointed him in what he presumed to be the proper direction. The roots of the Pillars lay ahead. Their adversary's attack only hardened his resolve.

He came to a ledge where two caverns intersected, lit by eerie yellow crystals. Unlike the tunnel behind him, this section had been extensively altered by beings far more archaic than him, the ancestors of the vampires. When he discovered this place he had been struck by imagery of the Soul Reaver etched into the walls, as though his killing weapon was some sort of holy icon. Ornate columns and arches marked the entrance he sought. Something new caught his eye as he approached, a monster visible only to the wielder of the purified Soul Reaver.

A massive green tentacle spooled around the architecture. The largest had suckered its body to the roof of the cave in an S pattern while the tip stretched down one of the walls. Others sprawled about the cavern, a slowly writhing nest of worms. Some were obviously poised to pull the columns down on top of him the moment he tried to pass.

Kain stopped near the passage and looked upward. Cancerous masses of flesh grew amid the quivering limbs straddling the walls of the cave, festooned with amphibious blue eyes of various sizes, all focused on him.

KAIN, SCOURGE OF THE CIRCLE AND DESTROYER OF NOSGOTH, YOUR SOUL WILL FINALLY BE MINE.

"I did not come to talk," Kain snapped.

WHAT ARE YOU, KAIN? A PESTILENT TYRANT, THE SINGULAR SOURCE OF THIS WORLD'S SUFFERING AND DECAY.

I AM THE STILL CENTER OF THE TURNING WHEEL, THE ENGINE OF LIFE, THE DEVOURER OF ALL THE HORRORS WROUGHT IN YOUR WAKE. WITH EVERY LIFE YOU DESTROYED, YOU PROFITED _ME_. YOU ARE NOTHING!

Still surveying the gauntlet before him, Kain curled his lip. He did not care for these sermons. They lacked subtlety.

Lunging with lightning speed, Kain swung the Soul Reaver. Its enchanted steel screamed a shrill cry of war and cleaved into the undulating flesh. White light erupted from the wound. The chamber shuddered and the limb recoiled with a roar of pain and rage. NO!

As the arm retreated the other tentacle released its hold on the columns. Kain leapt past as it lashed at him, but as he turned the corner it swung back, breaking through the arches and hurling them down the hall. He dove blindly, skidding on his stomach. The huge blocks of granite smashed into the wall behind him, splintering rock like wood. He scrambled to his feet just in time to be swept away by another attack.

It wrapped Kain's legs, thick and sturdy as a tree, and swinging him around lurched him upside down into the air. Kain's grip held true. He plunged the Soul Reaver upward into the tentacle. When the fangs of the crossguard struck flesh a whole section ruptured with purifying flame.

Unbound, Kain flipped to right himself and landed in a crouch, ducking just as another tentacle flung over his head. It crashed against the wall, showering him with light debris. The arm retracted with incredible speed, whipping and causing more destruction as it fled. Despite the hallway's impressive breadth it was still too narrow for a creature that size to maneuver. Kain rose, safe for the moment. The chamber rattled violently.

YOU GAIN NOTHING FROM THIS DEFIANCE, KAIN, it railed, stammering from pain or fear. NOSGOTH IS TOO FAR GONE. EVEN THE PILLARS CANNOT SAVE IT NOW. AND WHEN THOSE ABOMINATIONS YOU FATHERED REALIZE THIS - THEY WILL TURN ON YOU - AND THEY WILL REND YOU LIKE THE HOUNDS OF HELL!

That thought crossed his mind before, that he could give everything and fail. He had come this far on a momentous gamble. But Raziel's sacrifice granted him a weapon far more potent than the Soul Reaver. He had hope on his side.


	2. Death and Rebirth

_"The most important thing I learned on Tralfamadore was that when a person dies he only appears to die. He is still very much alive in the past, so it is very silly for people to cry at his funeral. All moments, past, present and future, always have existed, always will exist. The Tralfamadorians can look at all the different moments just that way we can look at a stretch of the Rocky Mountains, for instance. They can see how permanent all the moments are, and they can look at any moment that interests them. It is just an illusion we have here on Earth that one moment follows another one, like beads on a string, and that once a moment is gone it is gone forever."_ \- Kurt Vonnegut, Slaughterhouse-Five

 **DEATH AND REBIRTH**

Inside the Soul Reaver, Raziel discovered a new kind of death. Emptiness descended on him with unyielding absoluteness, devouring every light, crushing every shadow, and piercing his very soul with a thousand perforations until there was almost nothing. Here was neither darkness nor light. It was simply void.

A presence moved through the substance of the void. The current tugged him down, trying to drag him to further desolation, yet this spirit held him back. She coursed around him, anchoring him against the tide.

Raziel tried to speak. He could not be sure if he made a sound. "I know you."

The spirit did not reply. Perhaps she did not hear him.

"Ariel… I thought we were gone."

He longed to touch her. When he tried to move his limbs his intentions met with quiet emptiness, for he was no more.

"Please say something. It's so hard to focus here. I don't know how long I can keep speaking…" The words slipped away, swept up in the nothingness.

He tried to imagine how she looked the last time he saw her. She appeared to him in the heart of the Spirit Forge, which his Malefactor had attempted to prevent him from activating. The rags that wrapped her spirit glowed a brilliant white, tattered but pure, and for the first time ever she looked almost alive, Nosgoth's last uncorrupted Balance Guardian. The touch of her hand as her soul rushed through him and into the wraith blade felt cool and rejuvenating. If he concentrated could almost feel it now. But that was fading. Everything was fading.

Other voices murmured in the void. Some were like the voices of the dead. Could these be the other spirits devoured by the Soul Reaver? Or were they merely his own dark memories?

Some voices sounded muffled yet alive, separated by steel walls. He called to them several times to no avail. There was no way to reach Kain from inside the sword. Raziel gave up. Only Ariel's company mattered now. Everything else felt too distant.

"I don't know if you can hear me, Ariel. I hope you're listening. I did as you asked. I did it willingly, even though it cost me my life… such as it was..." He remembered that blue, mutilated corpse with an imagined shudder. "I know I deserve no forgiveness for the wicked things I've done… and I am so sorry for so many things I cannot change… but I hope this, at last, redeems Nosgoth. I hope my life won't have been in vain. I hope I gave it purpose at the end."

Now Raziel thought of his wives, his sons and daughters, the Razielim; all of them wiped off the face of Nosgoth following his execution at the hands of his brothers and Kain. He possessed no memories of his human life. After his brothers, his clan was the closest he ever knew to family. He wished he could see them all again, but he had walked beyond the veil of death before and knew no loved ones waited there. Certainly not here, inside the Soul Reaver.

Time ceased to exist. The pull of the vortex strengthened, stretching his consciousness thin. It did not hurt. Stubbornly, he tried to sigh. This must be the end at last.

"I'm ready to go this time…"

"Not yet, Raziel."

"Ariel?"

"This is my final gift to you."

"I don't understand…"

As she spoke her voice quieted, slipping away. "The Scion of Balance has nearly reached his goal… Do you feel them, Raziel? The Pillars are calling us home. All shall be healed… yet there may still be work for the Scion and you, before the coming spring..."

"Please don't leave me…"

If he must go to oblivion, it would be so much easier to go together. He could not even fathom the isolation. It would drive him mad before his final moments.

The undertow laxed, as if sated, taken up by an immense silence. It was not even silence. It was beyond silence. He could no longer sense Ariel. He wanted to flail against the void, to strangle and beat it back, but he had no body and no means to fight or flee. His screams were nothing.

* * *

Blasted awake by a roaring light, Raziel gasped and writhed on the hard ground, each breath shooting an arc of pain through his body. The world was bright and overflowing with feeling; muscles tensing and unwinding, involuntarily shaking, choking on dust, whimpering, flinching at soft noises, thoughts reeling in chaos. Too loud, too sharp, too rough, too enormous.

Curled in a fetal position, Raziel cracked open his eyes, blinking. A veil of dark hair bitter with dust brushed against his face as he lifted his head. Stomach empty, throat a dry waste, his head caught in the grip of some invisible demon, he felt lost and naked. Indeed, he was naked. His cowl and the other artifacts of his undeath were gone.

An object stood in front of him, taking up most of his field of vision. Metallic. White stone and metal. A kind of support structure - a pillar? Raziel scaled it with his eyes, tilting slowly to minimize the pain. No matter how far he looked he could not see the top.

Groaning, he pushed himself up with great effort and rolled, or rather, tumbled onto his back. Settled into his new position with a weak sigh, he stared straight up. Eight pillars joined the first, evenly spaced around it in a crescent. They rose above all, piercing a hole through the smoky sky and vanishing into a single point beyond beyond the blue. Finally he realized what he saw. At first he had dared not believe it. These were the Pillars of Nosgoth, whole and uncorrupted.

In front of him stood the Pillar of Balance, surrounded by the shattered remains of Kain's throne, and behind him, the Pillar of Time. Most of the roof had collapsed when the Pillars rose, yet somehow the Sanctuary remained standing. A hunk of rubble lay in front of him. Had it fallen a few feet short, it surely would have crushed him.

A new feeling asserted itself. He swallowed painfully, gripped by that ancient hunger for blood. A tongue scratched at his lips and rolled inside his mouth like cotton. Raziel blinked. He should not have a tongue. Or a mouth. Experimenting, he moved his jaw back and forth, feeling the bones click in place, and chuckled hoarsely despite the ache, "What... what is this...?"

He lifted his hand. Alabaster skin wrapped his three fingers. Sunlight gleamed off the points of his obsidian claws. No bones, no exposed blue muscle. His ribs were no longer visible, nor was his pelvis, and he had a stomach again, even a belly button. It was as if Kain never cast him into the Abyss. Raziel let his hand fall, teeth clenched in a tight grin, afraid that if he laughed anymore he would never stop.

Something sharp and bony dug into his shoulders, silencing his laughter for the moment. The source of his annoyance lay beneath him, sandwiched between his bare back and the ground, and the discomfort convinced him to lift himself as much as he could manage. Balanced on his elbows, he turned his head and saw…

Raziel's eyes widened.

No...

Surely not.

Surely.

Behind him lay a pair of mammalian wings, attached to his back by a fleshy membrane draped over three long finger bones, folded at the wrists. Trembling with rapture, Raziel wailed. These wings - _these were his wings!_ They were the same beautiful shade of ivory as the first time he saw them. He tried to move them. As their joints twitched at his command he flinched and screamed, laughing and sobbing all at once, utterly broken by joy.

Could all this be real? The last thing he remembered, he had tricked Kain into impaling him with the Reaver inside the Spirit Forge. Kain was trying to pull it out, but Raziel convinced him it needed to happen, that his joining with the Reaver was the only way to restore the Pillars. Then... then... not nothing, _something_... Raziel began to feel light headed.

Vampires did not normally feel the need to sleep, except before entering the state of change. Since his execution in the Abyss he had been utterly incapable of rest. Now, for the first time in centuries, his eyes closed against his will. The sensation reminded him of a pleasant kind of dying. Sinking onto his side, he thought it would be nice to just let go of the world again.

Sometime later, something shoved aside the rubble on the other side of the throne room, ending Raziel's attempt at rest. He struggled to regain focus. Though the ruins blocked his view, he did not need to guess who was responsible for intruding on his peace. It was always the same. Unfortunately, when he tried to get Kain's attention his voice barely cracked above a whisper. "Kain... Kain. Kain!"

Raziel recognized the clink of steel as Kain readied his weapon. "Who's there?"

Taking a deep breath, he summoned the last of his strength and called as loudly as he could, "Who do you think, you bastard!"

There was no response. Instead he heard a crash as Kain pushed through the rubble. Exposed, Kain froze, teeth bared in expectation of a trap. The cold facade fell away in seconds and Kain sprang at him with childish delight. That was concerning. "Raziel…? Raziel! My god, it is you! You're alive! You're actually alive! What in hell are you doing here!?"

Before he could find his voice, Kain wrenched him up by his arm. The Pillars spun and the floor seemed to drop. When he returned to his senses he found himself back on the floor, head throbbing, talons clenching the strap across Kain's chest above that old scar.

Kain knelt beside him, supporting his head with one hand, his long white hair tangled around his horns, out of place. He barely recognized him. His armor smelled like earth and some spectral substance that reminded Raziel of waking in the Abyss. Kain laughed, "Welcome back. You almost had me worried. Can you hear me?"

"Yes," Raziel wheezed, glaring.

His vision faded out again as he tried to pull himself up, accompanied by a confusing sinking sensation, as if being crushed by an invisible force. Through a sliver, he saw the glove float from Kain's hand. His voice sounded miles away. "Easy, easy now. That's a good lad. Take this while you still have your wits."

Kain bit into his wrist, splitting the hard skin with his fangs. The scent of fresh blood dragged Raziel out of torpor. As Kain pressed the wound to Raziel's lips he suckled instinctively. He lapped the cold, unsavory blood like a fledgling, digging into the opening with his teeth to delay it from closing. Too weak to pierce the thick hide, he licked the excess from Kain's skin as the wound closed. Kain yanked his hand back in disgust. Raziel blinked, eyes slowly coming into focus. He tried to say something appropriate. "Damn..."

Kain gazed at the Pillars in enigmatic silence. Whether it was reverence or pride, Raziel could only guess. This was his moment of triumph, the payout of his epic gamble against the powers of history and destiny. Raziel wished he could share in his victory. All he wanted at that moment was to find a dark, cozy place to sleep and forget everything.

"Hell of a sight, aren't they?" Kain whispered.

Raziel tried clearing his throat. "Nearly killed me, I think. They split your throne."

"So they did. I'll need to find a better place for the next one." A joke?

Taking his arm, Kain pulled it over his shoulders, using his other hand to support his back. "The Soul Reaver appears to have drained your strength. You should rest in my chamber until your soul recovers. I had it furnished for my return, but I suppose you need it more than I. Are you ready?"

Raziel gripped the strap on Kain's shoulder for support. His legs felt as useless as his wings used to be, but he did not want to be carried. "Do it."

As Kain stood Raziel clenched the leather strap over his shoulder, afraid he would let him fall. The tips of his claws dragged against the ground with each awkward step. At least Kain was quiet about it. He did not need his 'encouragement.'

Something cold and hard brushed the back of his arm. He ignored it at first, concentrating on his legs, until the feeling was accompanied by an eerie, familiar hum. He looked and almost fell from fright.

The Soul Reaver gazed at him impotently, spectral blue fires smoldering in its eyes, evidence of the wraith blade - his twin soul - trapped within. The sight of the Soul Reaver - and the absence of that temporal distortion - nearly stopped his heart. He almost didn't hear himself speak. "Kain… why am I in your sword?"

Kain looked at him incredulously. "You're not, clearly. Are you going to faint again?"

"I'm fine," he hissed. He could make it to wherever Kain was taking him. At least, he could try.

"Then pick up your feet. Your role in saving Nosgoth may be complete for now, but the rest of us still have work to do."

For now? Raziel dreaded to think what Kain had in mind for him next. At least the Soul Reaver no longer seemed aggressive. It did not try to devour his soul. Perhaps he had averted his fate after all.

Yet something about the sword still disturbed him. Maybe it was the knowledge that the deranged entity within had once been him, with all of his questions and ambitions, and was now no more than a ravenous, mindless shade, a victim of the wrong choice. Grimly, that reminded him. "Did you kill Janos?"

"I had a mind to," Kain answered, unsure if that was what he wanted to hear. "But the old one eluded me. After weighing my options I resolved to return to Nosgoth's present, where I could finish our true enemy."

"You should have killed him. The Hylden - "

"Knowing what I know now, that no longer matters. We may have altered history more than I intended, but it all worked out in the end." Kain smiled, cavalier. "The important thing is we've won."

Raziel choked on guilt. "He was suffering, Kain. It's all my fault..."

That smile faded, almost resentfully, and for a moment Kain said nothing. He sighed, "Raziel, whatever you did, I'm proud of the choices you made. You should be, too."

Nothing seemed to matter. He had failed Janos, the only one who had sincere faith in him, and although they had restored the Pillars, they could never free Janos from Hylden control or bring back the ones he lost. He felt so dizzy he feared he would vomit. When he tried to speak his tongue seemed to swell in his throat. Raziel welcomed the encroaching dark.

* * *

Kain barely managed to stop his son from slipping through his grasp. He knelt with him in the hall, shaking him and calling his name, but Raziel did not stir again. The topic of Janos must have been too much for him. Until now he had no idea Raziel felt such personal guilt over Janos' fate. By now he thought he should know better. Sighing, Kain folded up Raziel's wings and scooped his other arm under his legs to carry him, shifting him so his head rested against his shoulder.


	3. Sanctuary

**AN:** Quickly scroll to the bottom for a content warning. I've posted it at the bottom instead of the top to avoid spoilers for those who don't wish to see them. I normally don't do content warnings, but given the subject of this chapter and the detail it goes into, I thought I should add one.

* * *

 **SANCTUARY**

Raziel awoke in a cavern of discolored sheets, his face hugged to an under-stuffed pillow. For a long time he simply lay there, distrustful of reality and unwilling to break the illusion of safety, until bloodthirst drove him out. As moved his wings tangled clumsily with the sheets, snaring them and yanking over his head, thrusting him into unfamiliar surroundings. After a moment he started to remember. These must be Kain's living quarters. Without the Sanctuary's extravagant furnishings the room seemed vast and desolate.

Looking around, he noticed a cracked cheval mirror near the bed. The vampire in the mirror swept aside the dark hair covering his face and stared back with round jasmine eyes. That was him.

At no point during his time as a wraith did he actually have a body. He had been nothing more than a vampiric soul, feasting on the souls of other creatures as they entered the spectral realm or tearing them from living bodies. The matter from which he formed in the material realm was borrowed substance, a durable facsimile resembling a blue carcass.

Now at last he saw himself again; Kain's favorite son, the handsome prince. But it was the small things - the part in his lips, the hairs of his wrinkled eyebrows - that made him feel so fragile and grateful to be alive.

Hunger gave him no reprieve. Trying to walk, he stumbled, slamming into the corner with a thud. He startled, hearing a noise outside.

Instinctively, he tensed his right arm to summon the wraith blade. No tendrils of blue light snaked down his arm. Instead of the familiar hum of his twin soul and spiritual weapon, he met with defenseless silence. As the intruder closed in he could only back further into the corner.

The vampire lumbered into his room, back hunched and ears erect: a Turelim. While death spared Raziel from devolution, time had transformed the children of his brother into beasts with huge upper bodies and crushing jaws. Their telekinetic abilities were only outmatched by their physical prowess. She could kill him in this state.

"Stay back!" he shouted, trying to sound like he could put up a fight. His wings bucked against the walls like a caged bird.

The Turelim retreated a step and flattened her ears, a behavior usually followed by attack. Nonetheless, she accommodated his request, sitting on her haunches in the manner of a well behaved dog, and waited with that chagrined look upon her face.

She was indeed a woman, though it would have been difficult to tell if not for her leather chestpiece, which had a design to accentuate her tiny breasts. Small hoop rings dangled from her leathery ears, close to her jaw. Although she possessed fuller hips than male Turelim, her robust arms and hideous face - like a hairless chimera of a bat and lioness, sabotaged all her intentions.

"Who are you and what do you want?" Raziel demanded.

Her voice, at least, retained a hint of femininity. "I am your steward, Raziel. My name is Nogah. Kain entrusted me to watch over you more than a month ago, after your rebirth at the Pillars, and I so I have. I must have done well, since you are threatening to kill me."

Her sarcasm went unappreciated. Everything was a haze. Raziel could not believe he had been asleep an entire month. "Where is Kain?"

"Away, seeking another guardian. You must be hungry."

His defense faltered, caught off guard by the sudden change of topic. Hunger overwhelmed his mind. "Yes…"

Pleased with his compliance, Nogah departed to fetch a bleeder, but not before pointing out the clothes left for him. After the door closed Raziel let out a shuddering breath. The last time he encountered a Turelim it had been determined to break him in half with its bare hands.

Although the robes were loose enough to cover his extra appendages, sickening memories came to the forefront of his mind when he felt something unseen brush against his wings. He withstood it for about ten seconds before pulling the garment over his head and tossing it aside The trousers fit better, but he still found the sensation peculiar. It was his face that felt naked. He scratched at his cheek bones, anxious for blood.

Another vampire entered the room with Nogah. This vampire was a Dumahim, dressed like a servant rather than a guard and even more repulsive. He dragged a human in by the arm.

"Take all you need from this one," Nogah said disinterestedly as the Dumahim tossed the slave into the middle of the room. "I apologize, we have few capable slaves at the Sanctuary and cannot spare the healthy ones. You will have to drink less from now on."

The slave stumbled and smacked his head against the hard floor. His head was shaven, indicating his low value. After all Raziel had learned of the ancient vampires and their relationship to the Pillars, he now regarded his bloodthirst as a curse. However, the sentiment was not persuasive.

Lifting the slave by the collar, he bit into the jugular without delay. Hot blood poured down his throat. Gulping, shivering with forgotten pleasure, he drank the slave until all color had faded. Dropping the empty vessel, he slumped on the edge of the bed, bloated and dazed. The Dumahim carried away the remains and Raziel licked his lips while the taste lingered. He glared at Nogah. This changed nothing. "You work for Kain… what does he want with me now?"

"You expect him to share his plans with me? I don't know what he wants with you, other than to get well. When he returns in a few days, you may ask him yourself. You should enjoy this respite while it lasts." She approached him, apparently sympathetic to his tension, but her proximity only made it worse. "Perhaps stretching your legs will help clear your mind. I'm told you can see the Pillars from the courtyard. I may take you now, if you wish."

Raziel considered the offer carefully. He would like to see how the Sanctuary had changed since the Pillars rose.

* * *

During the centuries since his execution the abandoned Sanctuary fell into a state of decay. Now Dumahim labored to repair the damaged walls. Meanwhile, human slaves swept the floors and carried tools and supplies to their vampire masters. Turelim patrolled and oversaw the work. A few snarled as Raziel passed. Nogah snarled back, sending them on their way. He started walking a little closer to her.

Several small shelters crowded one side of the courtyard. Dumahim milled about, muttering amongst themselves in their mongrel tongue. They fell silent as Raziel and Nogah passed, staring.

He remembered the smell of grass the first time he beheld the uncorrupted Pillars, two thousand years in the past. There had been no Sanctuary then; instead of stone and granite this place had been surrounded by pine forests, penetrated with the calls of wild animals and whispers of the nearby river; the sky was pure and the horizon dominated by blue mountains. That was the world he sacrificed himself for.

Now only dusty weeds remained. The rough, grey soil scratched at his bare feet like sandpaper. Smoke obliterated the sky, swirling around the Pillars. Had they won nothing?

Turning to Nogah, he regarded her silence with renewed suspicion. "You've been quiet."

Her ears flicked in the direction of his voice. She sounded melancholy. "I've been… reminiscing. It's strange to hear your voice again."

Raziel disliked her familial tone. "I do not know you."

"You would recognize me if I could show you how I used to look. Klara and I were very close."

Anger welled to the surface. Klara was not simply another Razielim among the dead. She was his queen, first among his wives - his best friend. "How dare you... What gives you the right to call yourself her friend!?"

Nogah's face fell, her sharp teeth grit. "I had no part in what happened to your clan, Raziel-!"

"No, you watched it happen - you all _watched!_ You don't deserve to use her name!"

She flinched and turned away, ears ruefully pressed against her thick neck. He had hurt her. He thought that was what he wanted. Now that he saw how his words wounded, he realized he may have made a mistake. Klara had friends in other clans. If he did know her, she would not look as he remembered. Breathing deeply, he forced his tone to soften. "Perhaps I misjudged you. How did you know her?"

"Klara was my godsire," she answered softly, using a term for a vampire who was not one's sire but a benefactor to the dark gift. "I came into her possession as a girl, one of her attendants, and after a time we developed a bond. She wanted me to have the opportunity of a life like hers. When I came of age she gifted me to Turel, seeing that I fancied him. She taught me everything I needed to win his heart. The next time I saw the two of you, he had made me one of his wives."

Raziel eyes brightened. "I do remember! Klara had some horrid pet name for you before you turned. Hob, Knob..."

Nogah lifted her head with a small, hopeful smile. "Hobgoblin."

Raziel laughed. Klara always used those antiquated words for her personal attendants; Faerie, Sprite, Puck. Names of imaginary creatures from ancient human folklore, house spirits. He normally found it charming. But hobgoblin was such an ugly word. All his other wives agreed. Soon he started hearing Hobgoblin all around his palace, Hobgoblin every night, until he even started saying Hobgoblin, and Klara reveled in it. They loved toying with each other. He felt relieved when Klara finally gave her away, but watching her silently worry over her fate changed his mind. Raziel suddenly realized he was crying.

He tried to hide it, but Nogah must have smelled his tears. "I'm so sorry, I never meant to upset you!"

Raziel hunched on the edge of the dry blood fountain with his head in his hands. He could not remember the last time he cried like this, with real tears. Rage possessed him when he first discovered the fate of his clan; unaware the entire bloody drama had been engineered by malevolent forces beyond even Kain's control. Grief came later, heavy and unyielding. He did not expect it to find him again. "It's not your fault. To you she's been dead for centuries but to me," he trailed off. "I… I don't even know. I've lost so much time. Tell me how she died. Please, I need to know."

Nogah hesitated, perhaps worried he would lash out at her again. "When Kain vanished the empire sought someone to blame. Some of the Council thought your sons must have conspired against Kain after your execution. When the clans stormed your palace, many elders had already taken their own lives. Klara was found dead among your harem."

She paused, pained. "It was the wisest choice. The Razielim could not stand against all the clans. I begged Turel to spare her, but I knew he would not. Those few who survived the purge were enslaved and killed in the civil wars that followed."

Without wanting to, Raziel imagined Klara gathering their harem, helping them say their goodbyes, poised and rational even in the face of death. She must have been terrified. Suicide for vampires was never easy. To die as painlessly as possible, she needed a trusted servant, an axe or sword, and a fire, but that would require time. She had other options. He forced himself not to think of them.

He stirred from his thoughts, unsure of how much time had passed, staring bleakly at the clawed hand upon his shoulder and Nogah's woeful expression looming above him. "I loved her, too. At least she met death on her own terms. In some sense, she died well."

Raziel swallowed hard. This was too much. He cupped the sides of Nogah's face, drawing her nearer, and leaned against her for support. Her arm slowly encircled him, strong and protective. He expected to fear her. Instead, for the first time in forever, he felt as though his very existence, and the future of Nosgoth, did not depend on pretending to be invulnerable. Biting his tongue, he hugged his arms around her sturdy neck, if only for a moment. His frail voice sounded like a stranger. "Thank you... no one would tell me. I should not have judged you so harshly."

"Never mind," she said kindly. "My grief is nothing compared to what you feel. Whatever you need, if it's in my power, you may have it."

Raziel shook his head, wiping the back of his hand across his cheeks. "No... had our paths crossed before I would have destroyed you like my brothers."

"I doubt that," she replied with gentle humor. Her milky eyes still held tears. "In either case,Turel would have done the same in your position. We all would. The others wish to forget that."

"They are right to hate me. Revenge is pointless. Part of me always knew. Each time I had Kain in my grasp something held me back. I never considered what I would do if I actually killed him." He looked at his empty hands and almost laughed at the irony. "What would I have to live for after that? Everyone I love, everything I built - it's all gone! Forever! Now I have nothing..."

Maybe her listening encouraged him to speak freely. After he finished she lowered herself onto the ground, her limbs lazily stretched out in a way that made her look more animal than vampire. Her ears remained attentive, as though she anticipated a long conversation and wished to make herself comfortable.

"You are not alone. Zilah seized control of my clan after Turel vanished and exiled or killed any she deemed a threat, including my harem sisters. I still don't understand why she turned on us. We had lost so many after the war with Dumah. What could more carnage accomplish?" Her heavy brow wrinkled. "The other exiles and I spent nearly a century wandering the wasteland, no place to call home. Even if we could return, it would never be the same. I am not the same. Nosgoth sanded away my innocence."

Raziel remembered Zilah. She had been among the last human rebels at the end of Kain's conquest. Turel turned her shortly thereafter and named her his queen, his untouchable war trophy. Over time they developed a genuine affection for one another. Centuries of opulence had not tempered her thirst for war, apparently.

"At least some of your clan survived," he offered.

"Their company is not always a blessing."

She made a good point. However, he found her company refreshing even under this oppressive mood. For once he could breathe without the world ending. "Your's is."

Nogah flustered and Raziel smiled. It was almost like reuniting with one of his own children. Although she had only been a slave, for a time, she had been an important person in his household.

He asked her for a happy memory. Whenever he thought of his clan he thought only of death, but that was not what he wanted to remember. Nogah recounted her first visit to his lands as a vampire, one year after Turel made her his wife. She returned with Turel and his harem to watch their sons compete in Raziel's coliseum. The reunion with Klara was the highlight of her visit. They spent hours together, touring familiar surroundings, talking and sometimes touching or holding hands, like sisters. Klara taught her to play the harp.

Raziel listened with a small, taut smile, saying little or nothing. They kept their voices like secrets; her words became treasure. He hoarded every one.

* * *

Alone in Kain's room, Raziel's body was an ill fitting uniform. He ached to see Klara, to hear her voice; to feel her thighs pinned around him, riding him like the wind rides a storm. Death had spared him this longing. That mercy was gone.

Strange dreams carried him to sleep. Raziel had never dreamed before - at least, not that he could remember - but these were still _strange_.

At first he dreamed of Klara on the night he emerged from pupation, his wings new and raw, and how they celebrated his new gift by making passionate love in the bedroom of his palace. Then, suddenly, Klara disappeared. Stepping out of his bedroom in search of her, he found himself back in Vorador's estate. A storm battered the roof.

The mansion was in ruins; windows smashed, furniture broken and used for kindling, books burning, blood and debris everywhere. Raziel wandered naked through the halls. His search led him to Vorador's library. Someone waited for him. It was his former self, the wraith, but far more disfigured than he remembered.

Raziel saw him perched on the railing like a gargoyle; a corpse, skinless, body flayed and uncannily blue. Stained bone protruded like buttons down his back and at the ends of his elbows and knees. Beyond a few traces of blue flesh and patches of unkempt hair, his skull was completely exposed, as if his face had soaked in the Abyss longer than the rest of him. His wings were barely more than string.

He looked deranged, literally unbalanced. Bereft of the wraith blade, the wraith's right arm had been reduced to cracked bones tied together with threadbare ligaments and other remnants. He did not wear the Razielim banner Raziel had used as a cowl. His only possession was a single rusty greave, falling apart at the hinges. Grotesque, jawless, noseless, and throatless, his bright, pinprick eyes burrowed in the darkness of his empty skull.

"What are you doing here?" Raziel demanded, standing beside the wraith on the balcony, unafraid. This creature was merely a shadow.

The wraith cocked his head to one side. He turned and pointed to the other end of the library.

Amid piles of burning books stood a guillotine with a dripping red blade. The tattered banners of Moebius' crusade hung from the broken windows, bearing the Time Guardian's signature hourglass, soaked with rain and rustling in the storm. Stuck out from a pyre, a pike displayed a bloody trophy: Vorador's severed head. Raziel grimaced, hastily changing the subject. "I'm looking for Klara."

The wraith stared at him impatiently.

"Do you know where she went? Klara, our queen..."

The wraith tilted forward slightly, giving the appearance of a glare. His barren face reminded Raziel of the skull on the Soul Reaver's crossguard.

"Oh. I see. You must be that other me, the one still imprisoned in Kain's sword. That's why you look so defiled. I suppose you would, after spending all eternity being dragged through our whole damned cycle over and over." Raziel leaned over the railing heavily. "You don't remember any of them, do you?"

The wraith rolled his eyes. His head swayed as if for emphasis. It made him look drunk.

"You're pitiful," Raziel sneered, getting angry. "I do not know how you got here - but I hope you go back where you came from."

As he turned to leave the wraith seized him by the arm. Whirling around, Raziel tried to claw the wraith off, but his grip was as strong and icy as it had ever been. Raziel wound back and struck a wild punch to his skull.

The wraith released him, dropping from the balcony like a stone. Raziel peered over the railing. No sign of him. Scanning the library, he found the wraith standing beside one of Moebius' banners. He tapped a bony claw against his skull and shook his head disapprovingly. Then he lifted the hourglass flag and stepped under it, through the broken window into the rain.

Raziel backed away, discarding the library and slamming the door behind him. He continued his search for Klara undeterred. Of course, he never found her.

An eternity passed and fresh hunger pangs bore Raziel back to the waking world. Unfortunately, he was still here.

He walked with his eyes on the floor as Nogah escorted him to the blood pen, a passenger in his own body, trying not to think about Klara or his dream. There a bloodletter cut into the arm of a bleeder and let it drain it over a bowl. With the bowl filled the bloodletter took the still living slave away to be bandaged. Raziel drank his ration slowly, without enjoyment.

This will pass, Klara would tell him. She would chasten him for being so sullen. Even though she took her own life, he knew that if there was any recourse, any hope at all, she would have gone on without him. They talked about this.

Although they presumed to live forever, assassination attempts were not uncommon during the empire's golden age. They were part of the tapestry. Allowing small rebel movements to fester underground provided bloody entertainment in an otherwise dismal court and making arrangements in case of death was part of the game, but there were always close calls.

If anything happened to him, his son Aristaios would lead the clan with Klara acting as advisor. She thrived on politics and maintained an uncanny mental map of clan intrigue. On certain subjects he trusted her more than his spies. This would ensure her a measure of power after his death. She could remarry if she desired - perhaps even to Aristaios.

Klara herself was not an unlikely target for assassination. There would be a mourning period in the wake of her death, as was customary. Choosing a new queen was mostly a formality. The title distinguished Klara as the leader of his harem, the one woman who belonged totally to him, whom even Kain could not touch. He might have passed the title to Fayruz, if it placated her. In his heart, Klara had no successor.

They came to an agreement, he and Klara. If Klara died, Raziel would choose a new queen as soon as the mourning period ended. Both of them knew hesitation on this matter would arouse the attention of his younger brothers, who desired to usurp him in Kain's eyes. Raziel would find her assassin and publically crush him, as the empire expected. He would not allow grief to destroy their kingdom. Klara made him promise.

None of that mattered anymore; the Razielim were gone, his brothers vanquished at his hand, and his kingdom in ruins. Only the spirit of their bargain remained. The point was to keep the candle burning. After Raziel finished his ration, Nogah asked if he would like anything else. He forced himself to think of something. "A bath sounds nice."

Nogah frowned disappointedly. "You would need Kain's permission. The oil we have is reserved for him."

Apart from his former brother Rahab and his children, all vampires suffered a dire reaction to water. It burned like acid. Normally, this made bathing a luxury. Some bathed in blood for decadence, while oil served for cleanliness. Raziel pinched the skin of his fingers, wondering. "What about water?"

The suggestion caused Nogah to wince. She knew what he had done to his brothers after he killed them. They all knew and feared. Reluctantly, she sent a human to gather water from the slave pens while another warmed the coals and prepared the royal bath for use.

Despite her efforts to keep the matter discrete, the slave's task attracted the acrimony of a few guards. Water was not normally transported through the Sanctuary's halls, for obvious reasons, but Raziel sensed the guards' displeasure had more to do with him. A sharp remark from Nogah quickly settled the matter. "We've endured more rain in the wastes than you will find in that tiny bucket. If you're feeling soft skinned, make use of yourself with the whelps clearing rubble from Kain's throne room."

This odd scene momentarily roused Raziel from his low spirits.

When the slave returned with a bucket of water Raziel motioned for him to stop. After stealing Rahab's soul and dark gift, overcoming the memories of drowning and burning alive in the liquid fire of the Abyss had still taken time. Once he did, he learned to love water almost as much as his former brother. He hoped he could still enjoy it.

Cautiously, he dipped his hand into the bucket. As the cool water seeped between his fingers he felt himself smile. Dismissing the slave, he rubbed his wet fingers together, finding the experience improved by skin.

The royal bath had seen better days, judging by the crumbling relief and cracked tiles. The bath itself was made up of a wide stone drum buried in the floor with a raised seat around the inside, allowing the bather to lounge at the edge or sink comfortably up to their shoulders. While the water heated Raziel observed an ample young woman preparing a brush and file. This scene was familiar to him. In his palace he had kept a small number of servants to attend to him while he bathed, as did all nobility. Kain certainly had priorities. He approached her. "Where are you from?"

The way she looked at him showed she knew his reputation, at least in part. "The Necropolis, my lord. Most of us were rescued from there."

Rescue? That was one way of looking at it. He narrowed his eyes. "Melchiah is dead."

She smiled. "He is indeed, my lord. How may I be of service?"

She had a superior air Raziel recognized on humans destined for the dark gift. He wondered what Kain wanted with her. Surely, it could not be that obvious. "Do you have a name?"

"Lord Kain calls me Sweetblood."

How tacky. "Leave your tools by the bath and return to your other duties. I have no use for you."

Within minutes the water had been brought to a steam and the tub filled. Alone now, Raziel undressed and slipped into the bath. As the water covered his waist he let out a sigh. He slid up to his chin, mindful of his wings, and rested the back of his head on the edge of the tub, long hair floating on the surface of the water.

In the past, he felt secure in the knowledge that, no matter where the winds blew him, Klara would welcome him home without resentment. Her passion was a garden that flourished even in his absence. Whenever he returned he would find her blooming with some new talent or creation and he would wonder why he ever left in the first place. Not this time. Never again.

Raziel pinched his eyes, grimacing. With nothing else to occupy his mind, his thoughts inevitably returned to loss. He needed something to give him focus.

Sitting up, Raziel reached for the sponge and began slowly reacquainting himself with his skin. Comforted by the hot bath and continuing silence under Nogah's guard, he closed his eyes, little by little relaxing, though the hard knot at the base of his neck merely loosened. The Sanctuary was like a lesser hell.

Wings spread, he stretched and flexed his flight fingers, testing their range of motion and admiring the curious sensation as water dripped down his flight fingers. Blood flowed from his back into their flesh, awakening sleeping nerves. He reached up until his flight wrists touched at the knuckles and their thumb claws caressed, twitching with pleasure. Their delicate membranes rustled together like wet silk. His joints cracked in heavenly chorus. As he scrubbed the back of his neck he impulsively mouthed what he wanted to say to Kain:

No.

I've had enough.

I've had more than I can take.

I'm done.

He liked that best. It felt concrete, a declaration of accomplishment and resignation. He said it aloud. The words dropped from his mouth like something physical. "I'm done."

* * *

Nogah flattened her ears. "I am not allowed to let you leave, Raziel."

"I understand." Friends or not, they both knew the punishment for disobedience. "With luck, I might convince Kain to let me go freely. After all I've done I think he owes me a favor. Either way, I must learn to fly. Then no matter what happens, neither of you could stop me."

A long time ago, when he first learned to fly, he only taught himself enough to demonstrate his new gift before the council. He would not repeat old mistakes. If Kain wanted to tear the wings from his body this time, he would have to kill him first.

"You won't even hear him out?"

"He obviously has more allies than he can accommodate. Regardless, he has nothing left to say. I have fulfilled my purpose. He won't miss me."

"He may surprise you."

"I've made up my mind. I know I can never be happy here."

Remembering what that bastard did still made him sick. Now that he had nothing holding him back, he intended to take his fate into his own hands and see it through, even if it meant enduring the wasteland alone. He would suffer anything for a taste of real freedom. There had to be _something_ out there. Maybe he could discover what became of Janos.

Nogah said nothing for a few moments. Her expression was conflicted. "This place holds bitter memories for all of us. With Kain and the Pillars, I think we can make our futures better than our pasts."

"I know you will, Nogah. I cannot find my future here. I've changed too much."

She sighed through her nostrils, disappointed. She understood too well to say no. "Very well. If you promise not to fly above the Sanctuary, I'll let you practice in the courtyard." Her features hardened. "But I am not afraid to knock you out of the sky."

He smiled. "I would never make you do that."

* * *

 **CW:** Suicide, spousal death.


	4. The Nature Guardian

**AN:** Edited 10/22/15

* * *

 **The Nature Guardian**

The infant Nature Guardian writhed in her coarse bundle of furs, toothless mouth open in a plaintive whine, too exhausted to cry. When she reached her highest pitch she still caused Kain's ears a little pain, yet he took some pleasure in it, too, for such a large sound revealed the strength held in her tiny body. Gently, he brushed the covering from her face and found his fingers greeted by a tuft of soft blonde hair. He stroked her cheek with the back of his hand, coaxing her to open her eyes. Turquoise eyes.

Soft lavender magic surrounded his claws. As he waved his hand across her face the light entered her eyes: a charm spell. Her tears dried almost instantly, replaced by happy gurgles. This would keep the Nature Guardian quiet and content for a while.

Kain would have liked to collect her sooner. Unfortunately, business at the Sanctuary kept him detained.

When he returned from the Chronoplast, he had less than thirty vampires on his side, most of them Zilahim exiles. Now pilgrims clawed at the Sanctuary doors night and day, swearing fealty in one breath and gorging themselves on his blood stores the next, a constant stream of hungry mouths drawn to the Pillars. By the time he left for Termogent to seek the Nature Guardian, his followers numbered more than two hundred. Few seemed sincere in their devotion. As long as their loyalty held true to him, he did not care why they came.

Besides the pilgrims, repairing and fortifying the Sanctuary quickly became his top priority. Raiders too saw opportunity in the Pillars. These scavenging thieves knew other vampires would gather at their foundations, bringing blood and weapons for them to take. During the first week one small band of Dumahim vagrants managed to sneak in through a broken wall and abscond with a dozen slaves, only half of which Kain recovered.

There had been no human attacks, yet. Most of Erste Stadt's forces appeared to be tied up fighting for the Necropolis. If they conquered that territory, they would likely come for the Sanctuary next. He hoped Raziel would awaken before that time. His assistance would be invaluable. He also needed him to assemble the Circle.

Kain glanced over his shoulder at the remains of the human camp. Earlier in the evening, a large band of nomads had settled here to sleep, amid a circle of ancient ruins upon the vast plain that had once been the Black Forest. Blood and death now shrouded the dark camp. Shakeel and Bulus, two of Kain's finest raiders, tied up the surviving humans and cowed them into submission. Meanwhile, one of the younger Turelim, Mumin, snapped their spears into sections like twigs and tied the pieces up in a bundle to be used for fire. The other, Nadir, searched their crude shelters for useful supplies. They traveled with waterskins and a few bags of tubers and dried meat for nourishment. With most of the humans now dead, they had more than enough supplies to see them back to the Sanctuary.

Their crossbows, of which there were only two, and bolts would be taken back to the Sanctuary and added to the growing armory. Such fine weaponry must have been traded for or stolen from Erste Stadt's vampire hunters. The rest of their weapons were crude, sharpened stones attached to bone or sticks with leather strips, and not worth the burden.

Kain's raiding party was small and efficient, made up of four Turelim and Kain himself. The largest of the group, Shakeel, had been responsible for several successful raids on the Necropolis and surrounding territories, securing slaves and plunder for the Sanctuary before Melchiah's lands fell under human attack. Bulus assisted, leading smaller groups on reigns of terror to divert resources from the primary target. He was barrel chested, even for a Turelim, and his fangs stuck out the front of his mouth like a bulldog.

Nadir and Mumin had no history, young pilgrims of the wastes. This mission was their first trial. Nadir had performed well, to Kain's pleasure, but Mumin seemed restless. Their job would be to shoulder the supplies.

There were four men and two women among the spoils. Like all those descended from slaves they spoke the common language of the empire, albeit in a crude, diminished form. They wore fur cloaks and clothing reinforced with scraps of armor scavenged from the clans. Once they reached the slave pens under the Sanctuary, they would be stripped, shaved of their matted hair, washed and prepared for bleeding.

The Nature Guardian's mother, a wild-haired woman with flaking skin, finally stopped wailing and submitted to her captors, closely comforted by an adolescent female, apparently her daughter. From Nadir, Kain learned she called herself Bren. Her mother's unusual skin condition caused Kain concern. It did not appear contagious, but then none of these humans were completely healthy. Their fingernails were yellowed, their hair coarse and stinking of lice. Some of the males were missing fingers. Bren was the youngest, after her baby sister, and although the wastes may have aged them before their time, none appeared older than forty and most younger than thirty. The Sanctuary was in dire need of new blood. They would have to take the risk. However, he felt reluctant to return the Nature Guardian to her sickly mother's care.

When they returned to the Sanctuary he would hand the child over to Sweetblood. She was a Necropolis flesh keeper, responsible for repairing and maintaining the perpetually rotting flesh of her Melchiahim masters, and although she had no experience with children, her attentiveness and desire to please distinguished her from other slaves. Her ample, well-bred breasts would provide the Nature Guardian with all the nourishment she required.

While they obviously had no inkling of the child's importance, the ignorance of these feral humans was no less harmful than intentful negligence in Kain's eyes. The result would have been the same: an early, likely painful death for the Nature Guardian. Even the peasants of Nosgoth's past, who lived under far better conditions than these, lost most of their children during their first months of life. In fact, had allowed the Nature Guardian to remain with her family, she likely would not have received a name until she began to walk, if she survived that long.

However, he did have a name in mind. It was the first he thought of, though he did mull over a few others along the way to Termogent. "Callisto."

A strong name, he thought, but dreadfully beautiful. The music of those letters clashed with the bleak, silent plain. Skeletal trees huddled in small pockets like mourners around their fallen brethren; their once proud bodies bent over the uneven ground, watched over by deadwood tombstones. They had so much work to do.

By the time they were prepared to leave Callisto had fallen fast asleep in his arms. Kain gave her to Bren and instructed Shakeel to keep her mother separate until further notice. He did not want Callisto with her mother until he had more time to observe her condition. They needed to put distance between themselves and the nomads' camp, for the smell of blood would soon attract other predators.

...

Callisto's mother perished during the first night. They did not discover her death until dawn. There were no marks on her, apart from the bruises sustained during her capture. Kain felt relieved to be rid of her. The enigma of her skin disease weighed on him throughout the night, leading him to worry it might spread to the other slaves at the Sanctuary, until he thought of killing her himself. Bren made an adequate if inexperienced wet nurse. He had no more use for her.

They left the mother's body where she lay, hands still bound, and continued south west toward the Sanctuary. Her blood was too stale to drink. Bren said nothing of her mother's death. She seemed conveniently numb.

Tensions rose steadily throughout the day. Turelim had the most sensitive hearing of all the clans. While this gift made up for their poor eyesight, when Callisto howled her worst, the shrill noise nearly crippled them. Kain resorted to brandishing the Soul Reaver to stop Mumin from tearing Bren and her sister apart.

He could not keep the Nature Guardian charmed all day. He knew enough about children to understand that their cries served a purpose. Bren was too inept to anticipate her sister's needs without them.

They marched on through the day and did not stop until the coldest part of the night. Shakeel and Bulus kept watch while Mumin set up a fire and Nadir refilled their bloodskins with a few of the male slaves. The bloodskin was a Melchahim invention: a corked bag sewn from specially enchanted human skin, used to keep human blood fresh long after it should have spoiled, especially useful on long trips such as this, for they could be sure of their portions and thereby lessen the risk of bleeding their humans dry. It was important to keep them alive. A living human could feed far more vampires than a dead one. Once the bloodskins were filled, Nadir distributed rations to the slaves, using the supplies taken during the raid.

Kain stood on the edge of the camp. He watched Bulus lope away from the camp on all fours, starting on the first patrol of the night, then turned his attention west. The Pillars were now near enough to be seen even without starlight. At their current pace they should reach the Sanctuary by tomorrow. If not for the humans, they could be there before sunrise.

Kain resolved to take the next shift from Nadir after Bulus returned from patrol. He needed to escape this insufferable lull.

The Nature Guardian had not stopped complaining since they settled down for the night. Kain did his best to tune out the noise. Even the other humans had moved as far away from the sisters as their bindings allowed, grumbling and spitting venomous words at Bren.

"Quiet, the lot of you!" Shakeel roared, looming between the humans and the fire. The adults cowered. Violent sobs shook Bren's body and Callisto's cries reached a new pitch.

Ordinarily, Kain enjoyed watching Shakeel work. At the start of the raid he had seen him lift one of the lookouts into the air with telekenisis and hurl him into the nomad's fire, simultaneously sowing fear and confusion and snuffing out the light as the tribe scrambled to put him out. It was a beautiful sight. While Shakeel took center stage, drawing the attention of the armed humans, Bulus led the other two around the camp, rounding up the women and killing any who tried to resist. The slaughter lasted less than two minutes. Kain never needed to lift a finger.

Catching a low snarl, Kain spotted Mumin moving toward the humans and stood to intercept him. "Stand down, boy."

In spite of his earlier warning, Mumin stood his ground, teeth bared. His ears were pressed so hard against his neck they seemed fused to his skin. Kain simply brushed him aside. He would address this insubordination later.

Bren offered no protest as Kain took the Nature Guardian from her. Once in his arms Callisto's cries softened, to his surprise. Perhaps she had learned he had the power to make her tears go away. He spoke to her gently, coaxing her to open her eyes enough for him to perform the spell. When he tried to hand her back to Bren the young woman crossed her arms tight to her chest, her tear streaked face burning with contempt, and he thought better of it. He stood, holding Callisto.

"Shakeel, Nadir - please remind Mumin of his place."

That was all the encouragement Shakeel needed. He fell upon Mumin like a rock, knocking him head first into the ground and pinning him. Nadir appeared awkwardly at his side, but his superior had already done most of the work, so Nadir improvised, puffing up and snarling menacingly. There was blood splattered around Mumin's mouth when Kain stood over him.

"You will be taking the next two patrols. Consider this your final warning." Kain turned to the other two. "Make sure he understands."

Kain carried Callisto away as the beating commenced. He stood impassively on the other side of the fire, where she would be warm, and watched Nadir hold Mumin down while Shakeel pounded his ribs. Ordinarily he would keep his mirth behind a mask, yet he burned with quiet anger.

That feral look in Bren's eyes when he tried to return Callisto made it clear; she would rather smother her little sister to death than face the tribe's ire. Now that they understood why they had been captured, they hated her. Their callous betrayal aroused his ire even when he fully expected it and he looked forward to their introduction to the bloodpen with renewed mirth.

Their hatred was momentarily silenced in the spectacle of Mumin's beating. Shakeel and Nadir left him panting blood, curled in a trembling heap on the ground. His wounds would heal before Bulus returned, yet their memory would remain, a lesson that sizzled in his nerves. Kain eyed his prone form with satisfaction.

Callisto remained unaffected by the violence, sheltered by the lavender lights in her eyes. Her tiny hand reached for the red sash across Kain's chest. He looked down and saw her staring directly into his eyes, her wet tongue stuck between her gums, making a bubbly, purring sound. He puzzled. The calming effects of this spell normally put her to sleep in minutes. Their gaze held. Suddenly, Kain felt a warm tickle in his chest.

"Silly thing." He brushed her hand away with the back of his claw. As he did so, she reached out and gripped his finger with all her tiny might. When he tried to pull away she held onto him greedily and gurgled. He imagined a sword in those hands, one day. Nosgoth needed more than healers. It needed survivors, fighters, passion and bravado. Seeing the life in this little one tugged at the corners of his mouth.

He never expected to make it this far. Only after the quake of the Pillars' re-birth, after he had carried Raziel to his quarters, quelled the resulting panic, and assigned teams to assess the damage and stabilize the Sanctuary, only _then_ , when the thrill of triumph wore away, did he grasp the scope of his unpreparedness. Oh, how sublime to be surprised.

Kain reminisced on the rivers of blood he spilled to tear this land away from its unworthy human rulers. When he laid the foundations of his palace around the shattered Pillars, he believed he was writing the first chapter of the most magnificent period in recorded history, the genesis of his empire. Gazing upon Callisto revealed the empire's 'golden age' for a bronze era. A more glorious era waited on the horizon, in the shadows of those nine white towers, and in his very arms. She would be his angel of the damned, the dark mother of their new world.

Lowering himself beside the fire, Kain allowed Callisto to gum on his gloved claw. The Turelim paid them no mind. Their eyesight was too poor to see his smile.

Callisto was fast asleep when Bulus returned from patrol. He laid down on his stomach like a dog, joining Kain next to the fire, and turned his head to sniff at the infant in his arms. He was an obedient but simple-minded creature. Kain cautioned him, "She's sleeping."

Bulus relaxed slightly. He kept his voice down. "What of the other one?"

"Tomorrow, we shall see," Kain replied quietly. Bulus did not seem to understand the limitations of his abilities. While he could sense the locations other Pillar Guardians, he knew little of their condition.

Bulus folded his arms and rested his head on them, eyes half-closed. "I hope he's less willful. I like both of them better when they're asleep."

Kain glanced in the direction of the Sanctuary and at the handle of the Soul Reaver on his back. While there was something to be said for this refreshing silence, he started to miss Raziel's backtalk almost the moment he gave himself to the Reaver - not that he would ever admit it to anyone. For all his insolence, at least he could count on him to be honest.


	5. Raziel is Chosen

**Raziel is Chosen**

Raziel awoke in agony, blood and bile sour on his tongue and caked on his lips. His shoulders ached, dislocated from being dragged along his knees as dead weight. When he looked over his shoulder he retched, afflicted by the sight of his boneless, bloody wings shuffling across the ground. Weakly, he twisted his gaze toward his captors.

On his right he saw his younger brother, Turel, Kain's second born. His other brother, Dumah, pulled him by his left, eyes forward. Melchiah, Zephon, and Rahab marched behind them, silent. Kain led the grim procession. Raziel recognized the well worn path decorated with flags. They were taking him to die.

He tried to pull himself up. His body was in such pain, more than Kain had ever prepared him for, yet he knew worse would come. He could not die like this. "Turel, Dumah... please, help me stand..."

His brothers ignored him. Desperate, he looked to Kain, his creator and father. He could not see his face. The black, empty eyes of the Soul Reaver mocked all his hopes.

"Why are you doing this? What have I done? Kain? Kain!? Please, stop this! Sire, look at me! Look at me you fucking bast-!" He wheezed, cut off by Turel's swift kick.

Recovering himself, Raziel glared at Turel, but his rage died when he noticed the figure walking before his brother. The wraith looked just as he had in Vorador's manor; a dessicated facsimile of Raziel's former self, deprived of nearly all his trappings and even more abhorrent. Behind him, the corrupted Pillars of Nosgoth rose over the mountains and falls, black as if scorched by fire, and the wind carried a distant wailing. Raziel's stomach entered his throat. Was he dreaming again?

The wraith looked down at Raziel with his pinprick eyes. He tapped his skull with one claw and pointed. _It's all in your mind._

At that moment the waters of the Abyss hissed and exploded into fire. Raziel yelped. The air singed his throat with molten steel. Black smoke burst from the pit of the falls and churned above the lake like volcanic ash. Roaring, roiling flames leapt from rivers of magma, belching hot, dry embers into the sky. He tried to dig his claws into the earth, but the stone platform had turned to smooth metal without purchase. His brothers twisted his arms as he thrashed, ignoring his screams, until he complied. Kain stepped aside to allow them to pass. He never looked at Raziel. Not a glance.

They reached the edge of the platform. His brothers stopped, allowing him a moment to gaze into his future grave. The bottom of the Lake of the Dead had become a gigantic forge. He squinted, eyes burned by the intensity of the flames.

Visible only to Raziel, the wraith stood in front of his brothers on the precipice, hands at his sides, stringy wings floating in the hot updraft. The wraith turned to him. He held up his fist with thumb pointed out to the side, as if to give a command to the victor of a coliseum match. He pointed his thumb down. Raziel trembled.

Behind them, out of sight, Kain said, "Cast them in."

And then Raziel was falling.

Tendrils of hot air lashed across his face and broken wings. He threw up his arms to protect himself as he burst through the first wave of ash.

Wailing voices joined him in the inferno. Had Kain cast his brothers into the pit, too? No, these screams were too shrill, too pitiful to belong to his proud brothers.

The sound pulled at his heart. Back in the Razielim capital, Raziel had employed an army of semi-feral cats to cull the rodent population and prevent plague among the slaves. He happily allowed the tamer ones to lounge about his palace. One night he heard a shrill cry coming from a storage closet and rushed in to find two palace slaves holding one of his cats by the tail and beating it viciously. These screams sounded like that. He forced himself to look.

Eight shadowy figures plummeted through the fire on all sides. They were small, with the proportions of children. He tried to reach out to the nearest - a young girl - but his arm burst into flame. He screamed, tumbling head over feet. The flames gnashed their white hot teeth, tearing flesh from bone in impossible agony, and devoured them alive.

Raziel jolted awake. The touch of Kain's sheets touch felt icy and unreal, tainted by ash. Clutching at his head, he curled into a ball, face pressed between knees, shaking all over and breathing in hard, shallow gasps.

Gradually, the sickness subsided. He unfolded himself, catching his breath. It was a dream. "Dear god…"

Even after Kain's war he never had nightmares. Some of his brothers had, yet what they described was nothing like this. The Sanctuary must have addled his mind. Now that he felt stronger, he thought perhaps he should avoid sleep for a while.

As he thought of this, he became aware of a conversation taking place outside. He went to investigate.

Two Turelim stood in the hall, Nogah and another. Their conversation abruptly ended as he poked his head through the door. The stranger turned to him, fangs awkwardly sticking from his mouth, sniffed and let out a wet snort. That seemed churlish. Nogah glanced his way, ears down. "Kain is here."

Raziel narrowed his eyes. History taught him to be wary of unusual coincidences, especially where they related to Kain.

"Are you all right?" she asked as she escorted him down the hall. Kain was waiting for him in the throne room, at the Pillars.

"Just nerves."

"You sounded upset before you heard about Kain."

She must have heard him hyperventilating. Raziel hoped that was all she heard. Being caught crying out in his sleep would have shamed him. "I had trouble sleeping. Nothing to be concerned about."

These past few days provided a much needed respite. He told Nogah about some of his adventures. Sometimes they spoke of the dead. These conversations felt like pulling splinters. He needed to hear their names, to know they were real to someone else, that they were remembered. Nogah seemed to feel the same. She rarely had the opportunity to speak favorably of Klara and the others.

Dreams were one topic they never touched. He remembered them well, especially ones involving that wraith, but he had no idea how to explain. She might think he lost his mind. Maybe he had.

Nogah stopped outside the large double-doors. She knew he intended to leave soon, whether or not he convinced Kain to allow it. "I'll be waiting here. Good luck, Raziel."

Every night since his awakening, Raziel had practiced flight for hours. When his chest muscles burned for peace and his wings lost all ability to lift, Nogah happily kept him company on the ground, until she became the only thread connecting him to the Sanctuary. Now he did not know what to say to her. All his words felt too great or too little. He inhaled slowly and deeply.

More than a thousand years of history swelled against the double-doors. Raziel remembered it all. As he pushed apart the heavy doors his shoulders clenched and his wings curled into his back. Just deja vu, he told himself. He stepped onto the Pillars' foundation, a stone platform engraved with golden runes written across concentric circles, and approached Kain. This would be the end of it.

Kain waited for him beside the central Pillar, the Pillar of Balance, the hilt of the Soul Reaver visible over his right shoulder. Raziel rarely saw him without it. He knew Kain did not intend to use the sword against him again, yet seeing it on his person still made him uneasy, as if they had unfinished business. He almost did not notice Kain's smile. When he did notice, it was like carrying the moon on his back. "Welcome, Raziel! It pleases me to see you well."

"That's a first."

Kain chuckled, "Don't be disingenuous. None of this would have been possible without you." He ran his claws across the polished white stone in a gesture Raziel found almost perverse. "I confess, in spite of all my machinations, I doubted we would ever see the Pillars restored in our time. Only after you unmasked our true enemy did I sense victory within my grasp. Against all odds, we have successfully re-written Nosgoth's future for the better. I am indebted to you."

Maybe he should be happy. He would have liked to feel something apart from that nameless dread and creeping sense of exhaustion. "So… it really is over."

"The hard part is," Kain corrected. "As you may recall, the benefactions of the Pillars diminish significantly under human service. With their purification, I can now sense the other members of the Circle. Nosgoth remains in a fragile state until such time as these new guardians can be turned. We must collect them before they learn to fear us."

"What makes you think I want any part in this?"

"You have as much interest in Nosgoth's future as I. You are my right hand." Kain's smile faded slightly.

Those were his last words before the Reaver absorbed him. _I am not your enemy - not your destroyer. I am, as before, your right hand - your sword!_ The memory burned like acid. "I was dying, Kain. It was different. Do what you will with the Pillars. Now that I have fulfilled my obligation to Nosgoth, I will be going my own way. I need to discover what true freedom is like. I would prefer to leave you in peace."

Kain walked toward him. Raziel tensed, half-expecting a fight, but Kain was restrained. "You know it's not that simple. The Pillars bind us."

"My part in the ancients' prophecy is finished. I cannot stay here. Even you must understand how the Sanctuary makes me sick."

"Your _emotions_ have no bearing on the Pillars."

Raziel backed away, clenching his fists to control his voice. "This has nothing to do with your damned Pillars. If my sacrifice means anything to you, you will grant my request. I do not think freedom is too much to ask."

For a moment Kain said nothing. He eyed Raziel, gaze deep and uncertain. He answered measuredly, "It's not my decision. The Pillars brought you back for a reason."

"What reason? Did you plan this all along?"

He chuckled as if enjoying a private joke. "I'm not that omniscient."

"Then you don't know why I'm here." That laugh turned the hairs on his neck into sharp pins. He almost thought Kain would show him sympathy, but he should have known better.

"Nothing is free, Raziel. Ariel recognized me as her successor the moment we met. So too do I recognize you as the successor of another. When I look at you, I no longer see my creation. I see theirs." He gestured toward the Pillars.

Raziel glanced between Kain and the Pillars. He must be joking. "Oh? Which 'guardian' do you think I am?"

"Which seems most ironic?" He to the Pillar of Time. Raziel scoffed.

"Oh, please… do you take me for a fool? You would not need to curse your fellow guardians if the Pillars could choose vampires."

Kain held up one claw. "The Pillars choose humans only because vampires are no longer being born. Except, you were."

"You're refering to my rebirth." He intended his words to be scalding, but his tone wavered. His hesitation caused Kain obvious amusement.

"Precisely. When I used the Soul Reaver to restore the Pillars from the underground chamber, your soul was caught up in the wake. That magic recreated the Pillars flawlessly, as you can see. Remaking you would have been no challenge at all."

Despite himself, he found an eerie plausibility in Kain's words. Kain had seemed surprised to find him alive. He could not have been responsible, not intentionally, and although his new body seemed identical to the one destroyed in the Abyss, it derived from a very different source. He approached the Pillar of Time and slowly lifted his gaze along the tower, touching his jaw with faint concern.

"This is where you found me..." He stopped, shaking his head. "No, this is too convenient."

Kain leaned against his Pillar with arms folded idly. "I thought the same when Ariel revealed my destiny. Honestly, I could not have chosen better for Nosgoth's Time Streamer."

Neither could the Pillars, he realized. They required vampire guardians to maintain the delicate Binding that protected Nosgoth from the corrupting influence of the other realms. His soul, disembodied and tantalizingly infused with vampiric essence, happened to appear in the one place and time they could make use of it. When he thought of it that way, Kain's conclusion became inevitable. He backed from the Pillars unsteadily, stumbling over his own feet. Just as he thought he would collapse Kain clapped him on the shoulder, snapping him back to reality. Raziel stared at him in utter discombobulation. "Come with me. There is something you need to see."

Raziel jerked away in disgust. "What? My prison cell?"

Kain raised an eyebrow at him. The bastard was still smirking. "I thought you would like to see the fruits of your labor. I have the Nature Guardian."

He froze, shocked. Nogah mentioning Kain had gone to search for a guardian, but somehow he never believed. Kain motioned for him to follow.

…

They arrived in one of the guest rooms in the clans' wing of the Sanctuary. Raziel recognized the woman as Sweetblood, the slave from the bath; a questionable choice for the Nature Guardian's wet nurse. Now he understood why she had been promised the dark gift. At Kain's request, she lifted a bundle out of an open drawer and handed it to him. Rarely did Kain handle an object with such care. As Kain approached him with it, he saw among the furs a tiny human face.

Raziel was not sure what he had expected. Kain's tales described Bane the Druid as a mountain of a man, savagely dressed in hide and bone, with the power to bend earth and beasts to his will. Sleeping peacefully, this child was hardly larger than a kitten.

Nogah leaned over Raziel's shoulder, sniffing and listening to the child's soft breathing with intrigue. Raziel regarded infants as filthy little nuisances. As lord of his clan, he took no interest in slaves until they reached an age where they could work in his palace, fight in the coliseum, or showed potential for the dark gift. In fact, he had killed children as young as this during the war without a second thought, under Kain's orders no less. He did not feel proud of that, even if it was merciful. When he thought of how Janos would react at the sight of this child, and what he would say had he known the horrible actions of Raziel's past, he felt guilty.

Standing in front of them, Kain made a warm introduction. "Callisto, the first Nature Guardian in over two thousand years. Hold out your arms, Raziel."

"Kain, no -" He tried to reject, but Kain passed the infant into his protesting arms regardless. He froze in terror as Kain molded him around her, forcing him to hold her properly, for if left to his own devices he would have tried to hold her like a cat, his only frame of reference. Satisfied, Kain backed away, leaving him adrift with Callisto. It was like holding a damned bomb.

The child wriggled weakly in his arms with a mewing sound. Thankfully, she did not stir more than that. She felt unusually warm, more so than an adult human, and her swaddling smelled of Nosgoth's dry wastes. Callisto had a peculiar scent of her own, Raziel found. She smelled startlingly sweet.

He heard Kain whisper, "Recall how you felt when you stepped out of Moebius' time streaming device for the first time and beheld Nosgoth in all her natural splendor. Callisto is the seed of that forgotten world. She will blossom under our guidance and, in a mere century or less, we shall see Nosgoth explode with renewed vitality. We shall enter an age of plenty like nothing the old empire had ever seen. Imagine that, Raziel. The future is in our grasp."

Those words aroused all his brilliant memories of the past until his heart seemed about to burst. If only Janos could see her, he thought. When the Sarafan flaunted their kills a mere stone's throw from his window, Janos had been forgiving, seeing ignorance where all others saw only malice. He had given Raziel unwavering faith even when he failed him. His patience and compassion made him a far better candidate to guide the new guardians than either of them. It should have been him standing here. He deserved it more.

This poor child had no concept of the trials ahead. Raziel sympathized. In some ways he valued the upbringing Kain gave him as a vampire, yet for all the strength and courage Kain instilled into his soul, he also filled his life with brutality, distrust and ultimately, agony. Kain built him up with one hand and tore him down with the other in relentless cycles. He would do the same to her.

Kain smiled, quietly pleased. "Now you understand. I knew Callisto would show you the way."

Raziel sagged in defeat. Regardless if what Kain said about him was true, he did not see how he could leave now. He was about to reply when Callisto suddenly let out a wail. Nogah winced, ears pressed flat as she backed out of the room in pain. The scream pierced him from ear to ear. As Kain motioned for Sweetblood to take the child, a flame sparked at the forefront of Raziel's mind, a fire that grew and blotted out everything. It was that horrible cat scream.

The shadowy girl cast into the Abyss, the one he reached out to! That was Callisto? The dream had been similar to his execution, except instead of giving the command to cast him in, Kain had said cast _them_ in. Cast _them_ in!

Sweetblood carried Callisto away, trying to calm her, and Raziel found himself gawking at Kain, mind like a hurricane. Kain sensed the change in him. As he reached out everything seemed to slow down. Raziel experienced a break in reality. He saw Kain coming toward him, that terrible look in his eyes, reaching out to rip the bones from his wings. He leapt back, blindly striking his elbow against the door as he staggered into the hall, almost tripping over Nogah, then spun on his heels and bolted. Kain's talons grasped his shoulder like hooks. "Raziel?"

Everything went red. After the haze cleared, he still would not be sure whether Kain truly intended him harm. By then it would no longer matter. For a split second he saw Kain standing less than a meter away, hand clutched to one side of his face, a thick line of blood dripping over the bridge of his nose. The injury was fleeting. The look in his eye was something else.

Raziel crashed through an adjacent door. The force of the throw bounced him off the stone floor. He rolled a few feet, the suddenness and violence of the attack too great to recover from. This room was also part of the clans' wing. Unlike Callisto's room, it was barren.

Just as he had gathered his bearings his ribs exploded in pain. Kain was upon him, kicking him viciously. Raziel curled into a ball, limbs tight against his body, wings tightest of all. Knowing only submission would satisfy, he surrendered to the thrashing until the blows subsided. Kain wrenched him up by his elbow and shoved him, stumbling into the center of the room.

Hunched over, clutching his arm, Raziel glowered. He could see by the spent look on Kain's face that this attack had not been calculated. "Now," Kain growled, gruffly composing himself, "you will tell me what happened."

Raziel blinked rapidly and straightened, anger disintegrating. He felt as though he had temporarily lost track of when and where they were. There were more important things happening now. "That girl is in peril. I think the other guardians may be as well."

"How so?" Kain demanded.

The words crumpled on his tongue. "I… I don't know. It was all a dream. I didn't understand what it meant until I heard Callisto cry. She was a part of it, somehow. There were others… eight of them, wailing, and I among them… the Circle of Nine. We all fell into a fire… and the Pillars… my god, the Pillars…"

The change in Kain's demeanor frightened him more than his wrath ever could. Kain's umbrage died, simply died like an insect. A long silence settled between them. "What are we to do?"

"I…" What was he supposed to say? That Kain cast his fellow guardians into the fire? Could these events still be changed? Raziel pushed his claws through his hair, wide eyed. "Kain, I… I don't understand what is happening to me. I can't make sense of these visions. You knew my fate. You must help me decipher them."

"Only the parts Moebius allowed me to see. The rest I pieced together on my own, from my study of Nosgoth's history and the books in Moebius' collection," Kain said loathsomely, eyes downcast. He looked back at Raziel after a pause. His voice had softened, yet it still carried the strength of command. "This is your Pillar. Think carefully. Do not rush."

Raziel's mind drew a blank. Each time he tried to analyze his dream his mind flashed back to the scene of his execution and he felt sick. The future jostled with his past. Only violence seemed certain, violence and betrayal and death. There had to be some way to make the picture clearer. An idea came to him. "I need to go to the Oracle's Cave. If I am who you say I am, the answers must lie there."

Kain considered it with a frown. "That is not possible now. I have more pressing matters to attend. Tonight I must go to the Drowned Abbey to secure more blood for the Sanctuary and I fear we may soon have worse problems on our hands. Even if I sent you with Nogah, we lack the supplies for such a trip and you need more time to recover your strength."

He was only half right. The Oracle's Cave was nestled high in Nosgoth's northern mountains. Navigating that sort of terrain could take weeks, if one went by foot. Raziel's eyes lit up. "I can fly there. Ask Nogah. If I start from a high place I can catch the winds and ride them all the way to the mountains."

The Sanctuary's bell tower should be high enough. He wondered if he could actually do it. Kain shot him down curtly. "Don't be ridiculous. Even if you had the strength, you've never flown that far before. You have no idea what it's like up there."

"We may not have much time. I've sacrificed too much to risk losing the Pillars again because you're too damned busy to recognize what's important!"

"Your life is important -"

"My life!?" Raziel laughed harshly, without humor. "Do you hear yourself? _My_ life was never important until it benefited _you."_

"This is not about me!" Kain snarled. "You and I are the only vampire guardians in Nosgoth. The Pillars' magic depends upon us, now more than ever."

"Then we risk the Pillars either way."

"There is always some risk. I cannot allow you to leave."

"I know the Sanctuary just as well as you, Kain. I am prepared to do what I must. You cannot keep me prisoner forever."

"If you were my prisoner, you would know it."

Raziel bristled at the subtle threat, but sensed he had gained an edge over Kain. His temper was starting to get the better of him. "Don't bore me with semantics. You only want me where you can control me."

"Where you are safe. You know what the clans will do if they catch you out there."

"Tear off my wings again? Return me to the Abyss? I would laugh."

"For the last time, I had no choice!"

"Well, had I the choice, I would rather spend eternity in the Soul Reaver than suffer another day with you!"

It was too late to take back his words. Kain advanced upon him like a storm. "If that is how you see it, then go. Go on and waste your life again! The Pillars will choose your replacement soon enough, so why should I care if you die? Why shouldn't the Pillars wait another twenty or thirty years for a new Time Guardian to be turned? Since you are so expendable, don't think of coming back without answers!"

Raziel recoiled, more out of the realization that he had said too much than fear. After Kain left Raziel lingered behind, slowly collecting himself from the whirlwind of bitter words. He found Nogah standing alone in the hall, looking worn and defeated. His sire had taken out words on her, too. "Kain wishes me to escort you to the armory. You do not need to do this. If you give him time, he may cool down."

He shook his head. Kain's feelings were crystal clear. "What's done is done. I want to leave while he's given me the chance."


	6. Against the Wind

**AGAINST THE WIND**

"Are you certain you want to go unarmed?" Nogah asked again, following Raziel to the lift in the bell tower.

"Any useful weapon would only weigh me down. I left some spears behind last time I passed that way. I'm certain I can find them again." The light leather leggings, gauntlets and shoulder pads Nogah cobbled together for him might weigh too much by themselves. They were meant for Dumahim but fit him well enough.

Standing on the corrugated platform, his courage faltered as Nogah grabbed hold of the rusty chain. "Do you intend to pull us up?"

"Of course, the damned lever is broken."

Raziel gaged the height of the tower. A fall would not kill him, but it would probably break his legs. "I think I might be safer if I climbed."

"Don't overtax yourself," she snarled and grunted, pulling on the chain to raise the platform before he could protest. "The lift will carry us safely. Save your strength for flying."

As the gears creaked Raziel braced himself. The lift creaked and jerked at first, and then ascended at a steady climb. Seeing how easily Nogah trawled the chain impressed him - she used to be such a dainty thing. Based on their current speed, they would take some time to reach their destination. "You're unhappy about this."

"Of course I am. You're asking to get yourself killed."

She was right. The last time he endured the wastes he had been well beyond death. "I would have gone sooner or later."

"I know," she sighed. "And I understand why, but that does not make me happy. You will come back, won't you?"

"When I have Kain's answers. After that… I don't know. I want to help, but Sanctuary fills my head with bitter memories and dealing with Kain leaves me exhausted…" He thought again about his dream, his execution.

"You will always have me."

That almost caused him to smile. He looked at her directly. "All this time you must have known what I am. Why did you keep it from me?"

"My job was to give you respite. When I saw how you were, I knew the burden would be too great. I also enjoyed getting to know you again. When you've been talking to the same dusty old collection of vampires for as long as I have, you wonder if they're only keeping up appearances with you. It was nice having someone new who enjoyed my company. Besides, you remind me of Klara." She smiled slightly and gave the chain another tug. "After a while it stopped seeming important."

Simply having an ordinary conversation had been a blessing. Since his execution he hardly shared a word with anyone that did not revolve around vengence, prophecy, or the fate of the world, and his talk with Kain had been no different. Even his quiet moments with Nogah, merely sharing the same space together, gave him sweet relief. Her company almost felt like home. "You could come with me."

"I would like to," Nogah said somewhat regretfully. "But this is where I belong. The exiles think of me as their mother. More importantly, I believe protecting and bringing up the new guardians is my purpose. I have been drifting aimlessly through the wastes for a long, long time. When I felt the Pillars rise, I finally knew what I needed to do with the life I have left."

Raziel had given little thought to what he wanted to do with his new life. The future felt vast and empty, a blank canvas.

"Maybe you don't need to be here to help us. I hope you find everything you are looking for out there, whatever that is," she said, sincere enough to bruise. He realized how much he would miss her.

When they reached the top of the lift Raziel pulled the handbrake to hold the platform in place. From there they climbed a short set of stairs into the belfry. The mechanism responsible for ringing the bells still appeared functional, at least to his untrained eye. To reach his desired perch he would need to climb outside the tower. He turned to Nogah. "This is where we part ways. Thank you for watching over me. I'd like to give you something before I go."

Her ears flicked curiously. Gently cupping her cheek, he stood on his toes and kissed the bridge of her nose. Her heavy brow furrowed as she pulled back, tilting her head. "Raziel, I don't think we are compatible."

"You did not stop me," he teased.

Nogah snorted. "Try not to crash face first into the ground this time. Be careful. The Zilahim control the northern mountains. She is just as ruthless as Kain."

"I will. Farewell, Nogah."

Raziel leapt onto the inner wall of the belfry. He squeezed past the bell like a spider and kicked out the rusty screen separating him from the outside. As he climbed through the narrow opening a steady north western wind played with his loose bangs. The north wind was favorable, but he would need to adjust to stay on course.

He climbed onto the roof and perched atop one of the parapets. The Pillars towered above him, rising up from the heart of the Sanctuary. This was as high as he could go. He wondered if Kain was watching. He hoped he saw.

His wings unfurled like twin blades of muscle and bone. As they flexed the wind filled his sails, threatening to pull him from his roost. At this height the sensation sent a thrill through his blood. He folded them back and breathed deep into his lungs. The mechanics of flight were not difficult. He had mastered gliding long ago and understood how to use wind to generate lift. Building strength and confidence in his wings had been the core of his training with Nogah. Now he would put them to the test.

Raziel sprang from his perch in an arc, arms spread, air beating against his chest as he fell over the precipice. As he threw open his wings the air became a fist. His wings filled, stretched to their limits as he lurched against the wind. He folded his arms against his sides, grit his teeth and steadied himself amidst the turbulence. Rising over the Sanctuary, he felt the wind wash over his wings in a smooth wave. He looked down on the world and let out a small laugh.

Kain soared on the wings of vermin. Raziel did not need to become something lesser to reach the stars. These were _his_ wings, _his_ body and _his_ sky. Unlike Kain, Raziel belonged here.

Reckless elation impelled him higher. His wings knocked back the gravity like the greedy hands of a child. Vital energy ignited his flight muscles, his soul on fire. Covering his eyes, he burst through the smoke layer. When he opened them again, he looked up into a vast smattering of stars, strewn across with dark clouds floating far beyond his reach.

The sky had changed since the creation of the smokestacks. Constellations shifted. Some stars had disappeared entirely, swallowed up by the night. He straightened his wings, ferried across the sea of smog by these high, strong winds. Sailing above the smoke, he adjusted to his new surroundings and, peering over his shoulder as he banked, caught a glimpse of the Pillars rising over the smoke, higher than the tallest mountain. Bathed under the light of the moon and stars, they glowed like beacons in the darkness. They took his breath away.

They also gave him an idea. The Pillars acted like a compass: by holding them at his back he could be sure of a northward course. He wondered if the winged ancients ever used them this way. Had Janos?

The thought pierced him like an arrow. When Janos watched the Pillars fall, it was as if he watched the moon crash into the earth. Janos' final moment of freedom had been lost in the pure anguish of the Pillars' collapse, the beginning of the end of Nosgoth, when all his sacrifice and hardship had seemed for naught. He deserved to see that it was not so.

Raziel knew what he needed to do now. If the devices in the Oracle's Cave provided answers to his current dilemma, he would then use them to discover what the Hylden did with the body of Janos Audron. He would rescue him, redeeming himself. Janos would find new purpose in guiding Kain and the young guardians toward the creation of a better Nosgoth while Raziel could continue down his own path, far away from the vampire who betrayed and used him like a pawn. If he still possessed the power to change history, he would use it for the _right_ reasons.

To his surprise, the winds had blown him far to the west in the short time he had been lost in thought. He tried to return to course. With every beat of his wings the wind pushed him further to the west. This body was not immune from fatigue, unlike the material shell he used as a wraith, and the harder he fought the more he felt himself sink. Perhaps the winds would be gentler further down. He tilted his wings, closing his eyes and covering his nose as he descended through the smoke layer.

Raziel emerged over hell. Smoke and ash putrid with burning flesh rose from the buildings. There were no familiar landmarks, only darkness scarred by fire. He needed to find somewhere to land before he found himself even further off-course, but there would be no reprieve for him in the hellscape below. Descending slowly, held aloft by the hot winds of devastation, he eventually passed over the flames. The shadow of Melchiah's decrepit palace loomed atop a distant hill, the only sign of light as far as he could see, while the Pillars were shrouded beneath a blanket of smoke. This must be the Necropolis.

He aimed for the nearest intact building. Like it or not, he needed to land here. His wings trembled, barely able to control his descent. He slammed into the side of a slanted roof. Holding on by his claws, he dragged himself up to the top of the roof, knees aching, arms like string. As he reached the top the roof creaked and bent under his weight. His foot broke through a crack. Startled, he tried to fly, but the abrupt movement caused the rest of the roof to give. He fell through, wings flailing uselessly, and landed on his ribs with a bony crunch.

Someone shrieked. The voices lost their words in the rush of blood through his ears. One of them sounded female. His first thought turned to Klara. No, he chided himself, you know better. As he thought this, a pair of fleshy talons yanked his arms behind his back. He struggled, weak from flight, until his captor pinned her foot between his shoulder blades. "I've got him! Come quickly, he's strong!"

The point of a rusty sword touched down inches in front of his face, held by a kneeling Melchahim, his flesh a patchwork of light and dark human skin in various stages of decomposition, stitched together by frayed twine and crusted staples. Frazzled hair waved down half his face, for the other half of his scalp was bald and mostly rotted. His eyes, the last piece of him that seemed real, were pale and sunken behind a crude human mask. His teeth ran together like broken bricks. He grabbed Raziel by the head and held him down. "Ah, what a pretty one! Such smooth skin - and his face…"

Raziel bared his teeth, tasting blood. He must have bit himself during the fall. His lungs felt as dry and brittle as old tree bark. Mute, he scanned his surroundings. Dark brick walls and stone floors ripe with the stench of decay, the sconces cold and vacant, mostly blocked by the Melchahim in front of him.

"Fane, look here! He's got extra parts!"

The one called Fane looked up. His eyes almost popped out of his skull. "By our lord, he's a Razielim! I haven't seen one of them since I was fresh from the grave! What's your name, pretty?"

He inhaled and coughed. The cracks in ribs were slowly knitting. "Raziel."

"Did he say Raziel?" squeaked the Melchahim on his back.

"He's lying. Raziel is dead." He gave her a look.

Breathing seemed easier, his voice felt stronger. He needed to buy a little more time. At least these two possessed more brain matter than their ravenous kin. "It comes and goes. Would you like to give it a try?"

Fane said nothing, starting to look concerned.

"Forget it! Let's kill him and take his skin. He has enough for both of us."

Raziel chuckled in spite of the bile rising to his throat. Swallowing, he tried to move his arms, testing her strength and reminding himself to stay calm. "If you kill me now my skin will rot away like your ugly human suit. Keep me alive and it will last as long as I live. That seems like a better deal for both of us, don't you think?"

"Don't listen to him, Fane! I need his skin now!"

Fane narrowed his darting eyes. He knew Raziel was right. He also must have known this was a trick, that he was stalling, but Melchahim vanity was notorious. "Let me think…"

"I don't care how long it lasts! We can't go on like this."

"I said, let me think," Fane growled.

"Quit being daft and kill him!"

"Shut up, Lucia!"

Taking his chance, Raziel twisted sharply, freeing one arm and throwing Lucia off. Fane fell backward. A faint white glow surrounded Fane as he lifted him with telekinesis. Using his hand to guide the attack, he hurled him across the room and turned on Lucia.

She bent over her knees, whimpering and struggling with the body bandages dangling from her midsection. They must have torn or come loose when he threw her. Raziel suddenly saw that her stomach was a gaping hole and some of the things in her arms were not bandages. Crawling away from him, she frantically shoved the bloody bits inside herself, holding them in with one hand while she pulled on her bandages with the other, everything slipping through her arms. He hesitated, horrified and taken by surprise.

Fane lunged at him from behind. Raziel spun around, the sword slicing into his upper arm as he knocked it aside. He slashed Fane with his claws, causing him to stagger and drop his sword. White light surrounded the hilt as Raziel lifted the weapon into his waiting hand. Armed with this rusty sword, Raziel impaled him through the chest, holding him in place by the shoulder until he went still, then dropped him on the ground with the sword still stuck through his ribs.

Behind him, Lucia sprawled across the floor, unable to put herself back together. "Help me… please, I'm so sorry… I don't want to die!"

Raziel almost could not bare to look at her. He and his brothers had all been turned on the same night, one after the other and Melchiah last, meaning that he received the poorest portion of Kain's gift. Killing one of Melchiah's offspring felt no more satisfying than putting down a suffering animal. While killing might be nobler, he found leaving her fate to the hunters or other Melchahim more appealing.

The doors had been sealed from the inside. Beyond the barrier, there were no signs of Melchahim. This section of the Necropolis had been sacked and abandoned.

On the outskirts of the city, not far from the river that flowed into the Lake of Tears, Raziel discovered a small campfire with a couple of horses. The empire used them to transport slaves and supplies and, occasionally, as a supplement to human blood. A single horse could hold ten times as much blood as a human. The last ration Raziel received at the Sanctuary would not sustain him for long and he did not know where or when he would find his next meal. This opportunity could not go to waste.

These were not Melchahim horses, however. Their manes were cropped short and the blankets under their saddles displayed the insignia of Erste Stadt, the human city further to the north. One human stood guard while another slept. Raziel observed the scene from a short distance.

The hunter wore light iron and leather armor with a high collar and hide cap. He wielded a crossbow equipped with a bayonet and carried both a short sword and handaxe. The latter was a tool, not a weapon. It was used to behead vampires after they had been incapacitated by a bolt or sword through the heart. A string of fangs gleamed about his belt.

He had encountered hunters like these before. As a wraith, he ignored them. In those days he never wanted for sustenance. If he could not find any vampires to prey upon, he could shed his material shell and return to the spectral realm, where lost souls filled the air like glowing fish. Descended from slaves, oppressed and hunted for hundreds of centuries, he could hardly blame them for fighting against their oppressors. After a time they came to regard him as some sort of guardian angel - not that he had ever gone out of his way to aid them. Although not allies, technically speaking, for a short time they had been on the same side. They would not recognize him now.

Regardless, the horses were easier and more filling targets. Animal blood made a poor substitute for human in the long run, like feeding bone marrow to a dog in place of meat, but it would sustain him in the short term.

Raziel crept toward the horses, using shadows for cover, and crouched beside the nearest animal. Standing, necks bent, they were sleeping. The moment he tried to take blood it would startle and alert the hunters. A charm spell would pacify it for bleeding, but he would need to act quickly. Most simple minded creatures could be charmed, however, the spell required eye contact and for that the horse needed to be awake. He was also woefully out of practice.

A slight movement in the shadows caught his attention. The hunter stood about ten feet away, crossbow aimed, out of arm's reach but not out of reach of mind. Reacting on instinct, Raziel clenched his fist and swept his hand through the air, telekinetically yanking the crossbow out of his hands and tossing it into the night. He raised his arm, raising the human into the air by the neck, and squeezed his fist. The hunter clawed at his throat, silently gasping for air. His face turned blue and his arms went limp. Grip loosening, Raziel lowered his hand and gently laid the hunter across the ground, releasing him.

Should have killed him, Raziel scolded himself.

The horse nearly reared back when he woke it. Holding it by the reigns, he cast the spell quickly and breathed a sigh of relief as the horse relaxed. Using his claw, he made an incision in the horse's neck. As the blood flowed Raziel used his powers to draw it into his mouth in a stream. While he drank the hunter started to stir. Raziel continued feeding while keeping one eye on his weary observer. He crawled to his knees, nursing his throat as he caught his breath, but went still when he realized he was being watched. Smart.

Wiping his mouth on his glove, he motioned to the human for silence. There was no recognition in his eyes, no attempt to communicate, almost as if the gesture went unseen. It was good enough he did not reach for his sword. Raziel slowly backed away. Spreading his wings, he leapt high into the air and flew away just as the other hunter started to stir.

Raziel was a killer. Death was written in his soul. Over his thousand year life he killed humans in unimaginable numbers. Men and women, young and old, civilian or soldier; when Kain commanded it, he did not hesitate. His human life had been the same. The source of his orders differed, but he carried them out in unwavering faith. Self-righteousness steadied his hand. After he spared Kain the first time he made himself think up excuses to disguise the truth, that he had been too cowardly to face the existential futility of his revenge.

Yet when it came to Janos, his sword arm faltered. Hylden possession had twisted him, burning his body and igniting his eyes with green fire, and in his few moments of lucidity, he begged Raziel to take his life. Looking down on his broken body, the wraith blade poised to deliver the finishing blow, something finally buckled. His resolve drained like blood spilling from a fatal wound. He staggered, overcome with despair and self-loathing. Even the fate of the world could not force him to kill the last being he called friend.

Tonight he exercised mercy simply because he could, because it was an option. Maybe he felt tired of killing all the damned time. Maybe he wanted to see what the other road was like, if it was worth it. That he felt nothing told him a lot about himself. At least it was a choice.

After a short flight, Raziel found a place to rest inside an abandoned catacomb. He never understood Melchiah's affinity for these ancient human burial grounds, but he knew how humans feared to be reminded of their own mortality. This should be a safe place to rest. Once the sun had risen he should be able to see the Pillars again. His next move would be to follow the river east, to the cliffs of Vasserbünde, and continue his flight toward the Oracle's Cave.


End file.
